Our ten-year old granddaughter tells me, and others, periodically that I am “slow.” I certainly can’t argue with her assessment; however, I am most grateful to still be able to “Amble Along” under my own power without the use of a walker or a cane. Yesterday, she said, “Grandpa – you sure are slow, but not in the head.” This prompted the brief Rhyme below:
I now Have a Battle Cry,
to Stay with Me until I Die.
Epitaph when I am Dead,
he was Slow but Not his Head.